


Consequence

by Ameraka



Series: Fallout [2]
Category: Adventures in Odyssey
Genre: Action, Adventure, Capture, F/M, Revenge, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6826744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ameraka/pseuds/Ameraka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two months after Jason was captured and almost killed, he's slowly getting back to normal. Suddenly, he begins acting strangely and Connie wonders what's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold

Wham! A snowball hurtled over the snow fort into Connie's cheek. "Ow!" she said, wiping the half-melted snow off her face.

"Are you okay?" said Jason, beside her. He gently touched her skin where she was pretty sure there'd be a red mark for a while.

"I've had worse," she said, attempting a smile; the cold across her face made it hard to move her mouth. Come to think of it, it'd probably hurt more once she went indoors.

"We're running out of snow." He took their shovel and tossed some more into the pile, careful to stay out of the line of sight of Wooton and Penny, their opponents.

Connie gathered some snow and packed it into a ball, as Jason built one of his own.

"On three," she said. "One—Two—"

They dashed out from behind the fort, and ambushed Wooton and Penny with a hailstorm of snowballs over the top of their high, pinnacled fort. From behind the white wall, there was a yelp of 'ow', and a laugh from Penny. "We'll get you back for that!" she yelled.

Jason grabbed Connie's shoulder, pulled her into a huddle. "I have an idea. We'll sit tight here, make more weapons, and wait so long they can't help but come out. Then we'll attack!"

"Is that something you learned as an agent?"

He mock-gasped. "Uh oh, I've given away my secrets!"

"So that's what you were doing all that time you were a spy."

"Trust me, it got pretty intense."

"Like this."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, I haven't had a snowball fight like this since I was a kid." He knelt in the snow, started crafting more missiles.

Connie joined him. "Who knows who's going to win? Wooton and Penny are pretty good."

Jason nodded. "But how do we decide who wins? Whoever gives up first?"

"I think so."

Connie glanced up at the sky. Overcast, it was late in the afternoon. They'd met here in McCalister Park after church. They'd started by making a snowman, but his head had fallen off, and so Wooton had started making him into a fort. It had escalated from there.

After amassing a giant pyramid of snowballs, they sat there and waited. Connie rubbed her gloved hands together, trying not to shiver, and looked over at Jason, wondering if he was getting cold too. After he'd been kidnapped two months ago, she'd taken to watching over him, making sure he was taking care of himself.

The images assaulted her mind again-of him being beaten, of the blood spreading across his chest from the gunshot. She tried to stifle those memories as much as she could; she never wanted to think of him like that. She's rather see him always as this strong older brother, invincible, next-to-perfect (what do you expect from a Whittaker?). The past few days, she'd almost forgotten what had happened. Things were almost back to normal—except in times like this, when she had time to wonder whether he was as recovered as he acted, or how much scarring, not just physical, lay beneath the surface. He had shared some of his thoughts with her, but she suspected there was a lot he hadn't…and she didn't blame him. As horrible as it had been for her to go through those two days when he was missing, it was nothing in comparison to what he must've experienced. He was stronger than her in every way—she had no illusions about how she would have emerged from that—but it still must've affected him in ways that he couldn't come to terms with. Even after two months.

His face was in profile, the glare of the snow reflecting off of it. He's in agent mode, isn't he, she thought. He isn't even thinking about me, just about the 'mission'. That's okay though; as long as it makes him happy. At least this kind of mission can't get him killed.

He leaned toward her. "They're out there. Ready?"

She grabbed some snowballs and nodded.

"Go!" he said in a loud whisper.

They both leaped from opposite sides of the fort. She ambushed Wooton and slammed a snowball at him but he dodged it and hit her with one, which crashed into her shoulder. She ducked his next volley and dashed behind the fort, grabbing more snowballs, and hurled them toward him like arrows from a medieval castle.

He yelled "Retreat!" and ran back to their fortress, not before throwing a few more snowballs toward Connie, which missed except one which grazed her hood.

Jason and Penny were locked in combat in the center; Connie ran to help him and ended up tackling Penny, who managed to crawl away and limp back to the fortress.

"Penny, are you okay?" said Connie.

"Not really!" said Penny from behind the wall of snow.

Connie turned to Jason, who was kneeling in the snow. His face was pale; he was breathing hard. "Jason, what's wrong?"

He made an attempt at a laugh, though he clutched his chest as if it hurt. "It's just the gunshot wound. Close quarters combat- got a little intense there."

"Yeah. Maybe we should…call it a draw?"

"I don't….Well…maybe." He grimaced. "I hate to call it a day just because of my…infirmity."

"It's not your fault. You shouldn't push yourself too hard yet."

"Yeah, I know." He sighed.

"Besides, I think Penny's kind of injured too."

"How are you guys doing?" said Jason.

"We have a fallen warrior!" said Wooton. "She wants to keep playing, but she twisted her ankle."

"Okay, let's go home," said Jason, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.

Wooton emerged, helping Penny limp from behind the fort. Wooton looked at the fort wistfully. "Goodbye, Yoda," he said. He gave it an affectionate pat. "You served us well."

"You were a terrible snowman," said Penny, "but an awesome fort." She looked at Connie. "Did you guys have a name for your fort?"

She shook her head. "Just 'Fort'."

"That's what I'd have called our fort," said Wooton, "if he hadn't been a snowman first."

Jason drove them to his house and they filed inside, shedding dripping boots and coats in the entryway. He started the teapot and got out hot chocolate and marshmallows while they all sat down in the living room and Penny propped up her foot with some ice. Connie wrapped herself in a blanket, and got so warm she didn't even want to get up to get the hot chocolate while Wooton and Penny got theirs. Jason brought her a mug, complete with giant marshmallows foaming on top. He slid in beside her and they started a movie while they waited for the pizza to arrive. After pizza, they played Scattergories.

Then Wooton took Penny home, since he had to get up early for his mail route. Connie helped Jason clean up, then turned on the rest of the movie.

The movie faded in and out of existence and finally….she was asleep.

She stirred. She felt comfortable, warm, safe. She snuggled into the warmth, and grabbed the pillow she was leaning on.

Except it wasn't a pillow, it was a shoulder. She looked up into Jason's face, shadowed in the low light.

"Oh, sorry," she said, words slurring with sleep. "Didn't know 'shwas you." She sat up.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said.

"So you didn't move? You could've, you know. I wouldn't care."

He smiled ruefully. "You looked so comfortable and peaceful, I…well, I couldn't risk it."

"Would you have stayed there all night?" she said.

He cleared his throat. "Probably not."

"You should have just woken me up in the first place, Jason. Now what time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty." He inched away from her a little, hands clasped in front of him.

"I missed the whole end of the movie. Great."

"Wasn't the best movie in the world."

"Maybe next time we can watch a better movie. One that you pick out." She stood up, stretching.

"I'll drive you home," he said.

"You don't have to."

"It's not far. I can walk back."

She was too tired to argue. "Okay."

They drove home in silence. It was so dark, and the soft rhythm of the car almost rocked her back to sleep.

They stopped at her house. "Thanks, Jason," she said, getting out of the car sleepily.

He nodded, face solemn under the street lamps. "You've done so much for me and Dad, Connie."

"Cut it out, Jason. I haven't done very much."

"More than you know." He took her hand, pressed it in his- the one that had been injured. Suddenly, he withdrew it, turned, and walked down the sidewalk, while she stood there in the cold, shivering, as if he had taken all warmth away with his absence.


	2. Ice Cream

Connie sat behind the counter at Whit's End on a quiet Monday morning. Whit was upstairs, working on a new Imagination Station program. Connie wondered what it was; she hadn't taken a trip in the Imagination Station for a while. Maybe when this was finished, she and Jason could go together.

 _It's kind of strange_ , she thought, absently wiping the counter, _how much time we've been spending together lately. When was the last time I didn't see him some time during the day? We're always doing something together, especially with Penny and Wooton. It started during his recovery; we all wanted to help him keep his mind off his injuries. It's funny, it's almost like I'm like his sister now, or a second mother, because I keep hovering over him, making sure he's being careful…Sometimes I think I'm getting too overbearing but he's always patient with me. It's just that, after what happened, I realized I might lose him and I don't want anything to happen to him if I can help it._

_Not that I could really do much if someone like Gray came after him again, but I'd put myself in danger before I let anyone get to him._

_Of course, in reality, I'd probably hide behind a desk or something, but I hope it never comes to_ that.

"Hi, Connie," said Jessica, a girl with brown hair and brown eyes who was homeschooled and thus able to come to Whit's End on a winter weekday. She was holding the hand of her little sister, Chaise, who, Connie had learned on their last visit, their parents had adopted from China.

"Hi, Jessica. Hi Chaise. What do you want today?"

"I want …" said Chaise, "a ice cream kid's meal."

Connie tried to hold back a smile. "We don't have kid's meals here." Though maybe we should, she thought. "I can give you ice cream though. What kind do you want?"

Chaise tugged on her sister's arm and whispered in her ear. Jessica whispered back to her, then Chaise turned to the counter again. "I want a…raspberry road."

"Raspberry ripple or rocky road?"

"Um…both!"

"Coming right up!"

Connie scooped some raspberry ripple on top of some rocky road in a small cone, and handed it to Chaise. "You just might have started a new flavor."

Chaise beamed.

"What do you want, Jessica?"

"I'll just have vanilla. I'm not as adventurous as my sister."

Connie handed Jessica her ice cream, but nearly dropped it when the door opened. Jason walked through.

As the kids took their seats at a nearby table, Jason walked up to the counter. "So what's the special today?"

"Raspberry road."

"I'll take one."

"Coming right up." She grabbed a cone, flopping two scoops onto it, and handed it to him.

Jason licked the top off of his ice cream cone.

"How are you, after yesterday?" Connie asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The—You know."

"Oh. At our fort battle. I'm fine now."

"You sure?"

He nodded, his eyes shadowing for a moment. "Sometimes I think I'll never be back to normal."

She leaned on her elbow, fingers in her hair. "Maybe it never will be." Her eyes drifted to the scar on his face, faded but still there, reminding her of his hand with its nerve damage, and the scars on his back, and the shrapnel near his heart.

"That's encouraging."

"I mean, good things came out of what happened too. If Nadira hadn't captured you, you wouldn't have been able to give her a picture of who Christ is by saving her life. That's what you said, anyway."

"You're right. I just need someone to keep reminding me…it's just that whenever I think of that room, panic invades my mind and the only thing that works is prayer. And you." His eyes locked on hers for a moment.

His phone rang into the silence. Jason set his cone on the counter and answered it.

"Hello?"

His face went blank, as if he was trying not to react. Without taking the ice cream cone, he strode toward the stairs, speaking so quietly she couldn't hear, and disappeared through the door.

Connie watched the two sisters, laughing together, and then picked up Jason's ice cream cone when it began to melt. But he didn't return.


	3. Normal

She was still holding onto the cone, and it was melting onto her hand. What kind of call had Jason gotten? Was he in some kind of trouble?

 _I'm being paranoid_ , she told herself. _He just got a phone call._

_But after what happened, I don't know if I can be too paranoid. I mean, the people who hurt him are still out there. What if they kidnap him again? What if—_

_Calm down, she told herself. Panicking won't help_. She said a quick prayer—and then noticed her hand was getting cold. She licked off the ice cream, tossed the rest into the wastebasket, and wiped up the drips from the counter with a paper towel. She leaned back against the counter.

"Are you okay?" said Jessica.

Connie whirled to face her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jessica gave her a quizzical look, but said, "Well, here's my money. I forgot to give it to you before."

"That's okay. I forgot to ask for it."

Jessica handed her some bills and coins in exact change, and then took her little sister's hand, and walked out the door.

 _I wish_ I _could leave,_ thought Connie _. It's not like we're busy right now, and I could go find Jason and see if he's okay-_

_But if he's going to get back to normal, he has to be on his own sometimes… I justdon't want to let him out of my sight, where someone can hurt him._

_Here, I'm trapped. But if I was with him, could I really protect him? About all I could do is call the police._

_Though that might be enough…._

Whit came downstairs around lunchtime; by that time, she was almost bouncing off the walls.

"Whit, could I leave a little early today?"

"How come?"

"Well… Jason was in here a while ago."

"I thought he might drop by. Is he still here?"

"He got a phone call and left. I don't know if I'm assuming too much, but I keep thinking, what if he's in danger again? Whit, am I being paranoid?"

Whit shook his head. "After what happened, I don't think we can be too careful. Especially since Will and Gray are still at large."

"That's what I thought, but I just felt like I was jumping to conclusions."

"Well, that is an awful big assumption from a phone call. He's probably fine, but maybe I'll give him a call to see if he's okay. I get nervous if he's alone too long, too." He sat down on a chair, and called Jason on his cell phone.

It rang for a few moments. Then, Whit answered: "Hello? Oh, hi, Jason. Where are you?" A silence. "Oh. Well, Connie said you got a phone call, and then you left, so—Yes, I know every phone call doesn't mean they're after you, but can you blame us? We have to give you your space, you're right. But you haven't been alone in all this; it's because we care about you that we—I know, Jason. Yes. Okay. Well, I'll see you later."

Whit hung up, shaking his head.

"Is he okay?" said Connie.

"He said he was fine."

"You don't believe him?"

"He didn't sound like he was…under duress or anything. But he told me that we weren't treating him like an adult by asking him where he is every five minutes."

"I knew I've been too overbearing! It's just that I—"

"It's not your fault, Connie. He's just been going through a hard time, and now he's in that phase where he's getting back to normal, but he has to figure out what normal is, after….the trauma he went through."

 _I don't want him to get back to normal,_ she thought, _if we aren't as close as we've gotten….No, I don't mean that! Where did_ that _come from?_

"I think he just…needs some space now."

"Oh." Her heart fell. "I understand."

Whit touched her shoulder. "It's been hard for him, and me. Thanks for standing beside us through this."

"I wouldn't have been anywhere else, Whit." She smiled.

On the way home, she toyed with the idea of stopping at Jason's house. _Should I stop or shouldn't I?_ she thought. _He said he needed his space but I don't know if I believe him. After all, he just said that he was grateful for me helping him-_

_Maybe he is in trouble and didn't want to say…_

Near Jason's house, she almost drove past, but then, she saw a car in the driveway. Not Jason's. His was a red Camry; this was a nondescript silver sedan.

Half a block away, she parked in the alley. Then, she climbed out, not forgetting to grab her cell phone, and dashed through the back yard to Jason's garage.

She stood on her tiptoes, but still couldn't see through the window. So she snatched the spare bricks that were sitting next to the wall, piled them up, and stood on top of them, grasping the window sill.

And she peered through the rather grimy window.

Jason was inside, standing next to his car, looking like normal except that his hair was rather tousled at the moment, a single brown lock falling over his forehead.

Next to him stood a tall woman, her dark hair upswept tastefully, eyes sharp and active, mouth a little too prim, in Connie's opinion.

Tasha.

Their voices were muffled, so she couldn't make out what they were saying. Suddenly, Tasha took a step toward him, touched his hand.

He pulled away, turned his back toward her. She came up behind him, put her hand on his shoulder, touched his face, looking up into his eyes. Connie froze, hoping Tasha wouldn't see her; she would be in Tasha's direct line of sight if she wasn't looking at Jason.

Connie grasped the window sill tighter to keep from slipping, but it had the opposite effect. Losing her balance, she grabbed in vain for the painted wood surface, and then the bricks gave way beneath her feet. With a shriek, she toppled backwards and the ground rushed up toward her.


	4. Danger

Two faces looked down at her. They swam in her vision, fuzzy and indistinct. It was cold beneath her, and rather puffy. Snow, she realized.

The faces coalesced into Jason and Tasha.

"Are you okay?" said Jason, offering his hand.

She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. "Good thing there was a snowdrift there," she said shakily, brushing herself off.

"Good thing. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine."

"I can see that." She looked at Tasha, who smiled.

"Hi, Connie. It's been a long time."

"Hi, Tasha. How are you?" She wanted to ask what she was doing there, but felt extremely awkward, standing there in the snow after falling backward, spying on spies through the window.

"I'm well. It's good to see you again."

"Want to come in for some hot chocolate?" asked Jason. "As long as you're here." A smile was lurking at the edge of his mouth, as if he found this very amusing.

"Um…sure."

"Tasha?"

She pursed her lips. "There are still some things we need to discuss, Jason."

His face went serious. "Of course."

As they walked inside, Connie thought, _I think I know what you want to 'discuss', Tasha. Like you were 'discussing' in the garage. He doesn't need any more complications in his life, especially right now._

Inside, they sat down on Jason's red leather couch while he went into the kitchen.

"So," said Connie, "how has your work been going? I guess you can't really talk about it."

Tasha smiled. "No, I can't. What about you?"

"It's…been pretty normal around here. Except—" she stopped. The past few months had been anything but normal. "Do you know what happened?"

Tasha's face fell. "To Jason? Yes. I didn't learn of it until a month afterward, though, and even then, I couldn't get away. I…wish I was able to be here for him."

"He had a lot of people who were around him, supporting him after he got back. I'm surprised he's not sick of me by now."

"I'm sure he's glad to have you with him. He can be stubborn sometimes, but he needs all the support he can get after something like that. I've debriefed people who've gone through similar experiences, and the scars can last for a lifetime.

"I can't help thinking that if I'd have been here, I'd have been able to find him before…things got as far as they did. But even if I had known, the Agency wouldn't have let me off of my assignment. They might have sent someone else, and perhaps they should've, now that we know what Will's designs are.

"I just wish Jason hadn't had to go through all that for us to find out. If I knew there was anything I could do, I'd have dropped my assignment to rescue him. Gone rogue, and I'd be fired right now. And I wouldn't be able to help with the case."

"You're working on a case?"

"The one focusing on Will. I asked for it; the Agency readily obliged. We've run into a dead end, though; Gray is a ghost, and other than him, we don't know any other of Will's contacts."

"So you don't have any leads?" She hoped that they'd find these people, get them behind bars before they had a chance to hurt Jason again.

"Not many. We're following some rabbit trails, but so far they've led us on a wild goose chase." She laughed. "There's one or two…"

"Is that why you're here?"

"Officially, yes. I also wanted to see Jason. This is the second time I almost lost him, you know. The first time, after the incident with the Whisperer, I thought he was dead. Even as an agent, he's had more than his share of run-ins with danger."

"Danger is my middle name," said Jason, walking in and setting the mugs of hot chocolate down on the glass top of the coffee table. "They used to call me that back when I was in high school, you know. It's in my blood."

He sat down in the chair opposite them. "Speaking of which, we should probably pick up where we left off."

"You mean the Agency psychologist-?"

His eyes flashed. "No. I mean the reason you're here. My father."

"Is Whit in trouble?" said Connie.

"Jason—" said Tasha warningly. "Are you sure we should involve—"

"Connie is basically a part of our family," said Jason. "She should know."

"The more she knows, the more danger you put her in. You know the people we're dealing with better than anyone."

"Tasha—"

"Sorry, I shouldn't have put it like that. But in this kind of operation, the fewer that know, the better."

"She's here now. It should be her choice whether she wants to know more." He looked at Connie.

"If it has something to do with you or Whit being in danger, I do."

"Even if it means putting yourself in danger?"

"What kind of danger could I be in? I don't have any secrets." Connie took a sip of her hot chocolate.

"No," said Tasha, "And we wouldn't give you any more secrets than you know. But being close to this could make you a target. We've already seen how Will's modus operandi is to go after the loved ones of those he wants secrets from."

"I want to know. If there's any way I can help, I will."

Jason nodded. Tasha looked at him for a moment, then said, "Ever since we brought Nadira Jaheem in for questioning, and she described her interactions with 'Will', we realized we had a credible threat on our hands. Someone who had connections, who would go to any lengths to realize his goals of world domination, whether or not his goals were completely feasible in the long run. We needed to make sure he didn't get a hold of the weapons he was seeking.

"The problem is, we don't have a name to go on, only an alias, and so there's no way to know his true identity. He communicated with Nadira anonymously; she never indicated she knew his real name, and what else she could tell us was limited. Most of what we know now is mere assumption, connecting the dots that may give us a very different picture when we have more information at our disposal."

Jason cleared his throat. "What happened to Nadira?"

"I…don't know. I only saw the recording of her interrogation."

"Did they hurt her?"

"They scared her some—"

" _Did they hurt her?"_

"The Agency doesn't perform enhanced interrogations."

"I know _you_ don't. The Agency, I'm not so sure about."

"What does it matter? She was complicit in Will's scheme. She hurt you."

"She had her reasons. Do you know what they did with her afterward? Did they let her go?"

"I'm not sure. I can check for you."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Anyway, we finally got a lead several days ago. One of our listening posts picked up some chatter in which Whit was mentioned as a target. It was in a code we hadn't seen before, so we didn't decrypt the whole message. But it also mentioned Zephyr, the computer program, and Will is one of the few people who knows about it. And if Will is behind it, this might be the break we're looking for."

"Wait a second," said Jason. "It sounds like you're using my father as bait."

"Does it? That came out wrong, I suppose."

"No, I know how the Agency works. People are just pawns in the game."

"Wait a minute, Jason—"

"I don't begrudge them that. They have to work that way. I just don't like it, that's all."

"So—they want to kidnap Whit this time?" said Connie.

"It sounds like it," said Tasha. "We're not going to let them, though." She looked at Jason. "If everything goes how I want it, Will's accomplices won't get near him. We'll capture them, and then—"

"If all goes well. I don't want any possibility that my dad could get hurt. I'd rather put myself out there as bait. Was there any mention of me?"

"There…might have been."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That they mentioned a second target. We didn't get its identity. But it's likely you because both of you still have information they want, and either of you would be perfect leverage to hold over the other." She shook her head. "You Whittakers. You're like your own miniature version of the Agency—with less protection at your disposal. Maybe we should bring you all in to a safe house; you'd be less of a security risk."

"I'd almost consider it. But after a few days at a safe house, we'd be climbing the walls."

A smile touched her lips. "I suppose you're right. But for now, we need to make Odyssey a fortress—without looking like it is."

"I have some ideas."

"I thought you might."

"We'd better get going. I need to tell my dad what's going on." He rose, set his hot chocolate down.

"I'll go with you," said Tasha. "We'd better use my car—it's less…showy."

They walked out the door. Jason and Tasha got into her car. "Aren't you coming?" said Jason, through the open passenger seat window.

"My car's in the alley," said Connie. "I better go get it. Are you meeting at Whit's End?"

Jason nodded, barely perceptibly.

Tasha drove them out of the driveway. Connie had the strangest feeling of being left out; she wasn't part of that world, never could be. Tasha and Jason shared something that she never would be able to. They had a history…they'd even almost gotten married. Maybe it was best that they get together after all. They understood each other. Tasha was perfect for him.

She trudged down the sidewalk and into the alley, thinking that she wouldn't be able to be very helpful in this situation. Whit, Tasha, and Jason all would be able to do something; what could she do? She'd just be in the way. She wouldn't even know what they were talking about, and Tasha was right, the more she knew, the more she'd jeopardize the operation. She didn't want to get Whit or Jason in trouble.

 _Maybe I should just go home,_ she thought, as she climbed into the car. _I'd never forgive myself if I did something that inadvertently hurt Whit or Jason._

She put the keys in the ignition, tried to start the car. It didn't start, but that wasn't surprising; it hated the cold.

She tried again. Nothing.

She leaned back on the headrest, hoping the battery wasn't dead.

Suddenly something pricked the back of her neck. Like an insect sting. She grabbed for it instinctively, then realized the worst thing to do is grab a stinging insect.

But what would an insect be doing outside during winter in the first place?

She turned to look in the back seat; by this time, her head was spinning. Am I sick? she wondered. Before haze enveloped her completely, she glimpsed two eyes looking back at her in smug satisfaction.

Then, nothing.


	5. Trap

As she stirred awake, aches reverberated through her head. Sickness clutched her stomach, and she lay still, hoping the feeling would go away.

In a few moments, the nausea subsided, and she opened her eyes. She was lying on a mat. Ducts crawled across the high ceiling, as if she were in an unfinished building.

She turned on her side. And realized that her hands were bound in front of her with duct tape. Panic slashed across her mind.

 _Where am I?_ she wondered. _What happened?_

She struggled to her knees, scanning the room to see if anyone else was present. All she could see were pieces of scrap metal, building materials that had been abandoned. Graffiti was splashed across the walls.

 _I've seen that gang symbol before_ , she thought. _Where was that? The last time I drove through Connellsville. That's it! I'm in Connellsville._

It was a relief to have some point of reference, but not much in this situation. She stood, her head reeling, and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.

She shuffled toward the door on the other side of the room, hoping it was unlocked, careful not to move too fast because if she did, pain ricocheted through her head.

As soon as she touched the door, a voice said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

She whirled around. In the far left corner, a man sat in the shadows, hands folded in front of him.

"Who—are you?" Her voice echoed across the large, almost empty room.

The man stood. Walked toward her. "There's a trick to get through that door. If someone other than myself tries to open it, let's just say there wouldn't be much left of the door, or the person."

Another wave of sickness washed over her. She tried to steady herself against the wall- not easy with bound hands.

The man grabbed her elbow. She shoved him away, and leaned against the wall for support. He laughed.

"That injection I gave you is a doozy, no doubt about that. But it was one of the nicest ways to get you to come along…quietly."

"If you're concerned about being 'nice', why don't you just let me go?"

He clicked his tongue. "That's not in the plan. I'm not letting you go until I get what I want." An ominous undercurrent entered his otherwise flippant voice.

A voice she'd heard before… She looked at him, trying to figure out where she'd seen him.

His pale blue-gray eyes were almost translucent in the amber light filtering through the windows. He had dark blond hair, and a smoothly handsome face, the intensity of his eyes contradicting the benign curiosity of his expression.

That was it. The day Jason was kidnapped. At Whit's End, the mystery man with the hat, who'd disappeared to his hotel, so he'd said.

A shock pierced her heart.

"You're Gray," she managed to get out.

"Guilty as charged," he said. "It's a fitting alias for someone who's able to blend in as I can. For someone who's not constrained by the black and white of morality."

"You admit it?"

He shrugged. "A moral compass would be a hindrance in this profession."

"And what is your 'profession'?"

"Freelance agent, if you will. Spy, assassin, interrogator—whatever needs to be done."

"Kidnapper."

He smiled. "You have to admit, I'm good."

She turned away from him in disgust. The sudden movement shot pain through her head, and she reeled sideways.

He caught her elbow once more. She tried to pull away, but this time, he didn't let her go. His grip tightened on her arm.

With his other hand, he reached for his belt, and slipped out a knife. She yanked her arm backwards, with no more success than if his hand was an iron coil.

The knife neared her wrist. In one swift motion, the blade cut through the duct tape as if it were paper.

"The restraints were a mere formality anyway. There is no way for you to escape this room, so you might as well be comfortable."

"You aren't going to…do to me what you did to Jason?"

"I could, I suppose. I doubt you have any secrets worth knowing, but it could help pass the time." He flipped his knife over, and slipped it back into his belt. "We may yet get around to that, if your friends refuse to cooperate. But for now, we'll let them wonder what's become of you. Meanwhile, we have some time to kill."

He strode back across the room, dragged two rust-eaten chairs into the middle of it. "Come, sit." He gestured to the chair on the left.

"I'd rather stand."

"No you wouldn't. I've experienced that drug myself; it's not easy to tough it out with that in your system."

She did feel like her knees were about to give way. Reluctantly, she let go of the wall, and walked shakily over to the chair. She sat down, leaned her head in her hands.

A few moments of silence, the wind whistling through the cracks in the broken windows, the soft coo of pigeons outside on the roof.

Then, a finger touched her chin, lifting it. She leaned back, heart pounding, the ice of his touch still burning against her skin.

He smirked, one dark eyebrow raised. "Ah, there. I can see some of what he sees in you. There's fire in that soul. Jason needs someone with some of the same spark that he has, the tempered iron that bends without breaking when under pressure."

Anger flashed through her. "The pressure you put him under!"

"Contrary to what I indicated to him, he did not break until I applied the harshest of tactics."

Connie shuddered to hear him speak so casually of what Jason had gone through. His left hand, which still could not close completely into a fist. The ragged scars marring it.

"You didn't have to do that to him," she said.

"To get the information, I did." He shook his head. "If that girl hadn't interfered, we might have gotten the information we wanted. That's what involving amateurs gets you." He looked away, as if lost in a moment of regret.

"This time, nothing will interfere with the success of my mission." He looked at her, a hard gleam in his eyes.

Then he sat back, lit a cigarette. Its horrible smell unfurled toward her, and the nausea returned.

"Oh, sorry, does this bother you? I'm being inconsiderate." He flicked the cigarette onto the floor, and ground it with his heel. "Better?"

She didn't answer. She wasn't going to give him any more attention than she had to.

"I have some food if you want it." He pulled out a chocolate bar.

She looked away; even chocolate made her feel sick right now. "Suit yourself." He took a bite.

"As I see it, we have two options. One, they will give me the information, which I doubt. Two, they try to rescue you, and I capture them. To tell you the truth, I'm leaning toward the second option. Jason and I have unfinished business."

"You are not going to hurt him again!"

"And what can you do about it?" He took another bite of chocolate.

"They'll bring the police—"

"I'll tell Jason to come alone. He will if it means your death otherwise. When he arrives, the real fun can begin." Finished with the chocolate, he tossed the wrapper on the floor.

"He won't come for me."

"Oh, I think he will. And when he does, there are a few ways I think we can pass the time." He pulled out his knife again, flipping it absently in his hand.

 _Please don't come, Jason_ , she thought. _I'm not worth you getting captured again_.

The sun set in the west, casting brilliant slices of light across the floor, glinting off the broken windows. All too soon, it sunk beneath the horizon, and with it, warmth seeped out of the room, surrendering to the cold of night.


	6. Missing

Jason sat at a table at Whit's End, Tasha and his father across from him. Both their faces reflected the worry he felt.

He'd expected her to meet them at Whit's End, but she had never showed up. Each time they'd called her cell phone, they'd only gotten voice mail. They'd called Penny, and she hadn't seen Connie all day; neither had her mother, June. Finally, they'd called the police. They didn't give them the details, but told them they had reason to believe that Connie had been kidnapped. After the incident with Jason, the police had to have an idea this was connected somehow.

Whit had led them in prayer, Tasha at least humoring them by bowing her head. Jason wondered if she was more receptive to Christianity now; he hadn't had a chance to talk to her about it. There was this sort of distance between them that he didn't know could be repaired.

Twilight reflected off her face, illuminating its elegant planes, highlighting her cheekbones. Her hair fell softly to her shoulders; he remembered what it felt like to bury his fingers in it—

"Jason," she said.

"Yeah?"

"I said, don't you think it's time to go home and get some rest?"

"I don't know if I can. Not with Connie out there, in the hands of that—psychopath."

"I just don't know if there's anything else we can do right now."

"We can go look for her."

"You know that would only play into his hands. You won't be able to rescue her if you get yourself captured."

"That's how I tried to rescue you once."

"And how well did that turn out? We need to think this through first, not rush into things."

"Like I'm prone to do, I know. But I…I don't think there's any lengths he wouldn't go to." He tried not to think of Gray directly, but the images clamored at the edge of his mind, demanding to be let in and have their say. The only way to keep them from overtaking him was to rescue her as soon as possible. To leave her in his hands overnight was… unthinkable.

"Jason," said Whit, "I know how you feel. I can't stand the thought of Connie trapped somewhere with Gray. But we don't know for sure whether it's him."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I think the best thing to do is to go home, at least for a couple hours. We probably won't be able to rest much, but even a little rest can help us think more clearly. There is a solution; we just have to figure out what it is."

"You're right, Dad. As usual. Rushing into things might make it worse for her."

Tasha looked at Whit. "You know how to make him see reason. What's your secret?"

"Simple. I'm his father." Whit smiled, though there was a grimness to his smile. He looked as exhausted as Jason felt.

 _We have to get her back_ , thought Jason _. If something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself. I led Gray here in the first place. She's innocent. She never should have even been touched by this. I'm the guilty one, the one with all the secrets, the darkness._

Whit stayed behind to close up, as Jason trudged out the door. The bell rang cheerily into the silence; to him, it was anything but cheerful. It reminded him of seeing Connie behind the counter, and how tomorrow, she'd be absent…

As he stood in the snow, waiting for Tasha to pull up with her car, desolation dragged at his heart. He'd found himself looking forward to the bright spot in his day when he'd see her—and now that light was taken away, replaced by the darkness of uncertainty, the horror of her being kidnapped.

It was one thing for himself to be caught; he'd been trained as an agent. But Connie was a different story. She wasn't prepared to deal with the kind of pain he'd gone through. He could only hope it wasn't Gray, and if it was, that he would refrain from hurting her because she didn't have the information he wanted.

But even the possibility he'd hurt her—

 _I'll kill him,_ thought Jason. His fists clenched at his sides.

At the curb, a horn beeped, and he got into the car with Tasha.

They stopped in front of his house. "Do you want me to come in with you for a little bit?" Tasha asked.

He thought for a moment. "I don't know; I'm kind of tired…."

"That's okay then."

He shrugged. "If you want to."

She looked up at him, street lights glinting copper in her dark eyes. A smile tipped her mouth. "Well, if you insist." She climbed out of her car. They walked through a thin layer of newly fallen snow on the driveway. Through the garage, into the house. Stomped off snow on the mat.

"Would you like anything?" he asked, turning on the low lamp by the chair.

"Some tea, maybe."

He went into the kitchen, rummaged in the cupboard. "Earl Grey fine with you?"

"Sure," she said, turning to face him from on the couch.

He set the tea pot on the stove and sat down beside her. He leaned back, body tingling with exhaustion.

"We'll find her."

"I wish I could be sure of that, Tasha." He looked at her. Her eyes brimmed with sympathy.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Find that –piece of filth and give me a chance to take him down."

She laid her hand on his. He instinctively snatched it away; pain shot through it. He gasped.

"I'm sorry!" she said. "What's wrong?"

He almost snapped at her, but checked himself. He was protective of his left hand, almost as if it were a separate entity. He took a deep breath; she wasn't the enemy.

He held out his hand to her; her long fingers embraced it. It felt exposed; he was used to hiding it whenever possible, using his right hand for most tasks in the public eye.

The scars stared back at him, blank, uneven circles of discolored skin, mangled flesh.

Tasha leaned over, and kissed his hand. She looked up at him; tears sparkled in her eyes. "If only I'd known—"

"You couldn't have done anything."

"I could've been with you, after—"

"It's not even that big a deal. I'm an agent. I knew the risks, as Donovan would have said. I probably even deserved most of it."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. Besides, I survived. I'm almost totally recovered now."

"Are you?"

"Tasha—don't you start psychoanalyzing me. Men have gone through much worse than this—like the POWs in Vietnam."

"That doesn't negate what happened to you. I read your file, Jason. I…saw the videos."

Disgust ran through him that anyone had seen something so personal. But it was part of the small amount of intel they had about Will, so they had to include it in the file.

"Then you know it wasn't that bad. I mean, it shouldn't keep affecting me months afterward. I should be able to move on."

"But you aren't."

"Not with this happening." He shook his head, trying to clear it of images of Connie, mixed up with images of himself, undergoing the 'treatment' that Gray had given him.

"I want you to know I'm here for you," she said. "Even if I wasn't before, I'm here now."

Sorrow built up in his chest. "Tasha, I—"

"Jason, it'll be okay." She touched his shoulder. He let her draw him to her, and put his arm around her. She smelled of wild roses and jasmine. Her fingers slid into his hair, stroking it as if he were a child.

He leaned back. Shame at his weakness coursed through him. She pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. Touched the scar slashed across his cheek.

"Even with the scars," she said, "you're beautiful."

"That's not the word I'd use."

She laughed, leaned closer, tipped her face up to his, tears clinging to her lashes.

With his right hand, he wiped the tear that was still tracking down her face.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, his hand buried in her hair, and her lips moved beneath his, warm, smooth as satin. His left arm embraced her, pulled her closer. A fire built inside him, stoked to a furnace by her mere presence. The heat of the kiss built until they merged, two flames burning as one—

He pulled back. Heat burned across his skin, shame, remorse—he didn't know.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that—"

"Your Christianity." Resentment colored her breathless voice.

"No, not that. Not—I mean, we've gone this far before but—"

"I know, Jason. I'd never push you beyond where you were willing to go.

"Is it—her?"

"No—not like that. I have to find her—that has to be my priority. Not present or past feelings—or…whatever this is."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, if that's what you want. I for one would like to continue, but—it doesn't mean you feel the same way. Though it certainly felt like it."

"I—don't know what I feel. Other than—confusion, worry—I'm so tired, Tasha."

"I'm sorry, Jason. I just thought—well, I wasn't thinking very much either, I guess." She smiled ruefully. "Probably the best thing to do would be to wait and sort this all out when this is over."

"After we find her."

Tasha nodded. "If there's any way I can help stop Gray this time, I will."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're here—even if it does…complicate things." He attempted a smile.

She rose. "I suppose I'd better get back to my hotel. Goodbye, Jason." She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek. Then, she strode out the door and was gone.

After turning off the whistling tea pot, he sat there in the darkness, wondering what had just happened. He'd needed comfort; they had a history. Or was it something more?

He didn't want to try to sort it out. He had enough on his mind right now.

Connie.

He leaned back on the couch pillow, solutions flitting through his mind. Most of them involved him charging into a building with a large gun.

He got up, prepared for bed. _I have to get some rest; I'm useless like this._

But he lay there in the dark for a long time, before exhaustion finally conquered his adrenaline enough so he could sleep.

He shot up in the dark, his heart pounding. The nightmare flooded his mind, images of Gray hurting Connie drumming ruthlessly through his thoughts.

The only way to get rid of them was to do something.

And there was only one thing he could do.

He got dressed, jumped into his car.

 _I'm going to find her,_ he thought. _No matter what it takes._


	7. Jump

Connie snuggled into her covers, but still was shivering. Why was it so cold? _Did we forget to pay the electric bill or something_? she wondered.

Then she realized she wasn't in her bed; she was in a sleeping bag, and in front of her sat a space heater, which wasn't on at the moment.

And on the chair, Gray sat, looking down at her, head tilted slightly, in the early morning light his eyes looking as clear as crystal, their pupils black pinpoints. He held a cell phone in his hand.

"I trust you're feeling better?" he said.

"Yeah. It's just…really cold." Her teeth chattered. But thankfully, she didn't have a headache, and all sickness from yesterday had disappeared during the night.

He punched some numbers on the phone, then handed it to her.

"Hello?"

Jason! His voice sent a thrill through her; tears came to her eyes, and for a moment, her throat tightened so she couldn't speak. "Who is this?"

"Jason? It's me!"

"Connie! Where are you?"

"I'm—"

Gray snatched the phone away from her.

"Yes, Jason," he said. "I have her. If you tell me where the weapon is, I'll let her go. No further harm will come to her."

She could hear Jason's angry voice from the other end of the phone, and wiped away the tears that had spilled from her eyes.

"Don't worry, she's fine. For now. And if you tell me where it is within, let's say, one hour, I'll set her free.

"What if you don't? Think about it, Jason. It's not even technically a weapon. Is it really worth this girl's life? Her sanity? Her—

"Yes, I know, you'll kill me when you find me. But I doubt you'll be able to find me before I've gone further than you want me to go.

"One hour. You could see her, undamaged, in a little more than that. Otherwise, the next time you hear her, she'll be screaming."

He shut off the phone, and stepped over to her. She scrambled up, away from him, fear pounding through her.

"Don't worry. If Jason cares about you, he'll give me the information the next time I call. If not, I may not even have to hurt you, if you'll give me a convincing scream."

"He-he won't give you his secrets that easily."

"Then we'll all have a reunion soon." He grasped her wrist. She tried to pull her arm away; he twisted. Pain shot through her wrist. "You, my dear, are the bait in the center of the trap, waiting for it to spring as soon as he steps inside." He smiled, like a wolf eyeing its prey. "When I have both of you, his father will have no choice but to give me his secret as well."

He released her. "But for now, I think it's time we have some breakfast. What would you like?"

She cradled her wrist, looked away.

"I'll get us both something." He turned toward the door. "Remember, if you try to leave, the door will blow up in your face."

He stepped through it, without doing anything visible that would indicate the 'trick' to opening it.

She stood there, shaking from the cold of his touch, from the ice of his words that had stabbed her heart.

To be the one that led Jason into the trap. She'd wanted to help him and now—she would be leading him back in the hands of the man who'd nearly torn him apart.

She turned toward the window. Dread, fear for him, longing to see him all jumbled up inside her, jostling against each other.

His voice, his face filled her mind—she longed to feel the warmth of his hand against hers—

A shock jolted through her. She'd felt this way before…an echo of it danced across her skin. The one who had broken her heart…not really through any fault of his own. But after that, she'd closed off any thought of love so that she probably wouldn't even recognize it when it appeared.

_No, I'm being silly. Nothing's normal right now—how can I trust my judgment? I love Jason as a friend. I don't—couldn't possibly—love him, that way._

But even as she thought the word 'friend', it sounded hollow. After what they'd shared the past few months, their relationship was almost too close to be called friendship. During the many hours as he was recovering, they'd had a lot of time to talk. He'd shared the depths of his soul; she'd shared hers in return.

Would it have happened with someone else under the same circumstances? Maybe. But no one she knew was like Jason, not even—

 _Shut up,_ she told her mind _. I have to think of a way to escape. I can figure out how I 'feel' later. If at all._

_Escape is the only way to get out of this without drawing him into a trap._

_I could try to go through the door; it might be a bluff. But I'd rather not take that risk._

She turned back to the window, huddled into her coat, her breath fogging out into the frigid air. Outside, pigeons pecked among the stones and hopped in the snow on the triangle section of roof that jutted out from the building. _We're only about two stories up_ , she thought. _Maybe I can break the window, and see if there's a fire escape, or some other way down. If not, I could jump…._

She rummaged among the building materials for something that would help break the window, and found a sturdy, three-foot piece of wood.

Then, standing sideways, like a baseball player at bat, she swung.

Crash! The window shattered, showering her with glittering pieces of glass. She leaped back, shielding her eyes. Cold wind rushed inside, but she stepped into it, through the opening. Her shoes crunched in the snow on the roof. Crouching down, she walked toward the edge, and peered over.

Dizziness attacked her. It was only two stories, but there was no fire escape, nothing that she could climb down on, just a sheer wall of concrete. She stepped back, feeling sick. As a child, she'd always wondered what would happen if there was a fire and the only way to get out was to jump out the window, and break her leg or arm with the fall. _What if I hit my head? I could die unconscious in the snow…._

 _Maybe I'll try to yell for help,_ she thought, but saw no one near, only the abandoned building and a dilapidated railroad bridge not far away. Besides, if she called, Gray might hear her.

She closed her eyes. _It's not just for me, it's for Jason._

_Please, God, let this work._

She walked along the roof, inspecting it for a place with no ice, so she could hang off the edge and it wouldn't be as far to jump. Standing, she took a deep breath _. I can do this. At least there's some snow at the bottom that might cushion my fall._

A 'clink' behind her. She turned and saw someone emerging through the broken window, gun in hand. Gray.

Terror flashed through her.

Without hesitation, she jumped.


	8. Refuge

A sharp throb in her ankle, as if a shard of glass had embedded in it.

Her head, spinning. Above her, drab gray clouds, icicles dripping onto her face.

She struggled onto her hands and knees, each movement sending pain shooting through her ankle. _Must be broken_ , she thought vaguely.

She crawled forward, wondering if she dared to stand. She probably didn't have much of a chance to escape if she couldn't walk…

Next to the building, shaking all over, she grabbed a door handle for support, assuming it was locked.

It wasn't. It swung open; she collapsed into the snow.

A face peeked out. "What the—" A man looked down, face bearded, blue eyes alarmed. "What are you doing here? Get out!" He wore a heavy brown coat, and smelled of alcohol.

"Please," she said. "Help me."

"What kina trouble you in?"

"Broke my—ankle," she gasped.

Sympathy gleamed in his eyes. "Ah. Come in." He took her arm and lifted her to his shoulder, supporting her on one leg to an old couch sitting in front of a fire in a barrel in the center of the floor.

He set her down on the couch. "Not much, but the cops don't bother to come down this way."

He knelt on the floor beside her, carefully pushed back her jeans above her shoe, and touched her ankle.

"Ow!" she said.

"Sorry. Looks broke to me. Do you have a phone?"

She shook her head.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "There's a pay phone a couple blocks down. I could…call someone for you."

"Okay." Her mind was sluggish, still stunned from the fall.

He got up, walked toward the door.

"Wait—he might be out there!"

"Who?"

"He'll see you."

"Oh. Well, I s'pose there's nothing to do but wait him out, whoever he is."

There was a clink of metal as he shoved various refuse, empty cans, beer bottles, against the wall. "I think I've got something here—don't mind beans, do you?" He held up a can. "Last one I have."

She attempted a smile. "Sounds good." Though she felt sick and shaky, she was rather hungry, and wasn't too particular about the food since she hadn't anything to eat since yesterday lunch.

He propped the can up on a grill over the fire, and sat back on the couch, not too close to her, fidgeting with his gloved hands. "So…." he said. "What's your name?"

"Connie. What's yours?" she asked.

"Jim," he said.

The door swung open. Jim leaped to his feet.

"Hi," said Gray, holding his silenced pistol in front of him. "I see someone crawled in here. Someone that belongs to me."

"You can't come in here—" said Jim, but Gray pushed past him and walked over to Connie.

"Let's go home, dear."

Shock clutched her near-frozen brain. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Listen," said Jim, "you can't have her. Besides, you have no right to barge into my place—"

Gray swung his gun sideways. A muffled 'bang' and Jim toppled backwards to the floor. "This wasn't your place to begin with," said Gray, looking down at the still form.

"Why-? You didn't have to-!" she said.

"He was a mess I had to clean up. You made that mess; if you'd have just stayed where you were, this wouldn't have happened." He spoke as if chiding a wayward child.

He grasped her wrist. "Let's go."

She pulled back, but her strength was almost gone, and she couldn't resist him. He slung her over his shoulder and carried her out.

"The police'll find him…" she muttered, as Gray carried her up the stairs, thoughts wading sluggishly through her mind.

"If they do, they'll just dismiss it as something that happens on this part of town." His voice, so self-assured, sapped her of all hope the pain hadn't drained away. And seeing him shoot the man who'd been trying to help her….

Back in the room, he sat her back in the chair, taking no special care with her ankle. "It looks like the hour's up. I think it's time we called Jason to see how much you're worth to him." He took out his phone, and dialed.


	9. Discovery

Jason screeched his car to a halt on the side of the road as soon as the phone rang. He switched off the police scanner that had been going all night and answered.

"Gray," he said, gripped with loathing.

"Have you made your decision?"

"I can't give the weapon to you. It's not mine to give."

"Well, then."

A shriek in the background.

"Connie!" he said.

"Are you sufficiently motivated yet?" said Gray.

"Listen, Gray, this is between you and me. Leave her out of it."

"Would you give yourself up? Would you come to me willingly, without involving police or other obstacles that might endanger her life?"

"If I knew you'd set her free."

"As soon as you get here, I will."

"How do I know you'll hold up your end of the bargain?"

"You have my word."

"Your word," scoffed Jason.

"Take it or leave it. If you want to, I'll let you think about it for a little bit. But there's no guarantee your friend here will be safe during that time."

Jason bit back a curse. "Don't you dare touch her."

"I'll give you fifteen minutes."

Jason set the phone down on the seat; flipped the police scanner back on. If he gave himself up, there was no guarantee Gray would let Connie go. He might keep both of them for leverage to get his father's secrets, or worse, hurt her to make Jason give up his.

Dread poured through him at the thought of being in Gray's hands again. _But no matter what, I can't leave her there_ , he thought. _Even if it means worse torture at his hands, it's worth it. I just wish there was a way to guarantee her safety._

He gripped the steering wheel, preparing to start the car. "We have a 10-71 at Fourteenth and Vine," said a female cop through the speakers of his phone.

"A shooting on the north side?" said a male voice with mock surprise.

"The victim appears to be breathing, but we need some paramedics over here."

Jason stopped. There was something about it. He had listened to the scanner most of the night, hoping to find some clue. So far, nothing. Why had this caught his attention? Why would a shooting have something to do with it—unless-Gray had been the one to use the gun. But why draw attention to himself in that way? He couldn't have shot Connie…unless…

No. Jason wouldn't consider that possibility.

The phone rang again.

"Yeah," said Jason.

"Do we have a deal?"

"I'll trade places with her."

"I thought so. Well, then. There's no one listening in, is there? Because one sign of the cavalry, and I'll take her out of the picture."

"No. I won't tell anyone."

"Good. Let's meet at the corner of Seventeenth and Vine, in Connellsville, at one o'clock. From there, I'll take you to where Connie is. Then, she'll be free to leave, and we can pick up where we left off. How does that strike you, Jason?"

Jason gritted his teeth. "I'll be there." He shut off the phone.

And considered: 17th and Vine was awfully close to where the police had talked about. Coincidence? Or was that where Gray was located?

It was 9:00. He had four hours. Half an hour to get to Connellsville. Three and a half hours to find Gray, and rescue Connie—since he had no illusions that Gray would actually hold up his end of the bargain.

 _Maybe I can end this_ , he thought. _For the both of us._

He called his father, but only got his voicemail. Then he called Tasha.

"Hi, Jason," she said. "Are you all right?"

"I've been out all night, looking for clues."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have come with you."

"I…wanted to do it alone."

"Oh."

"Listen, if I'm not back by two o'clock, contact the police in Connellsville."

"Wait, Jason—back from where? Where are you going?"

"I have to do this alone, too."

"You're not going after him yourself? We talked about this. We can't just jump into it—"

"I can't let him keep hurting her. If he finds out someone else is coming, he might—kill her. I have to go."

"But Jason—"

"Bye, Tasha."

 _I bet I can make it in twenty minutes_ , he thought. He revved the car to a start, drove to the nearest exit, then sped down the highway.

Nineteen minutes later, he parked at a gas station, grabbed his 9mm pistol from the glove compartment, tucked it into his coat pocket, and got out.

He walked casually to Vine Street, and then along the railroad bridge, careful to stay in its shadows, its concrete supports splattered with graffiti, colorful gang signs.

Ahead, a huge building loomed, its steel skeleton poking out from beneath its gray concrete skin. What windows that were left were smashed. It looked like an ill-conceived building project, long-abandoned.

He walked across the snow, and then slid along the edge of the building, ignoring the cold splash of water from the icicles above.

At one part of the building, an anteroom or storeroom, the door was open, thudding against the wall with the wind. Around the area was a flurry of footprints, so scuffled that he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Something caught his eye. He crouched next to the threshold.

Red spots had soaked the snow. He stepped inside; more blood, but no sign of anyone.

Back outside, he followed a trail to the left. It stopped abruptly, as if someone had fallen from the sky.

 _Or, more likely, the roof_ , he thought. He stood there, considering the best way to get inside. If Gray was there, he had probably trapped the easiest way.


	10. Shot

Jason looked through the window, heart pounding. He'd climbed up to the third story, crawled across the roof, and then slowly lowered himself to the small section of roof on the second story.

Climbing over the roof had exhausted him in a way that wouldn't have in the past. His chest throbbed where the bullet had gone through. Don't have a heart attack, now, he told himself wryly.

Beyond the window and piles of plywood, a figure paced. Jason would know that lithe step, that tanned, angular face anywhere.

And in the middle of the room sat Connie; she looked all right from here, but that was no guarantee Gray hadn't done something. Her scream still echoed in his head. I need to get her out of there ASAP.

He raised his pistol, aiming it toward Gray's head. I have a clean shot from here, he thought. At the same time, something held him back. He had never shot a man in cold blood.

There's always a first time. And this man deserves it, if anyone does. It's not like his life is doing the world any favors. He's beyond redemption.

His finger inched toward the trigger, following Gray's movements, waiting for the right second—

No. I can't do it.

He lowered the gun.

But he will get justice.

Jason was careful to keep below the stacked plywood, until he reached the broken corner of the window.

"Don't move!"

Gray froze, surprise written across his face.

"Hands up!" Jason stepped through the window, not taking his eyes off Gray, who raised his hands slowly. The man's surprise melted into his customary smug smile. Jason grabbed the gun from its holster, and stuck it into his belt.

"Turn around. Kneel on the floor." Gray knelt, but started lowering his arms. "Keep your hands up!"

He risked a glance at Connie beside him; her hair was disheveled, a smudge smeared across her forehead, which at first had looked like a bruise. "Connie, are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "Except my ankle. It feels like it's broken."

"What did you do?" Jason pressed the mouth of the gun against the back of Gray's head.

"She did it to herself," said Gray.

"Of course she did."

"I jumped out the window," said Connie. "Some guy tried to help me and Gray—shot him."

So that was the gunshot that the police had responded to. He hoped whoever it was had survived; Jason wished he could do something for him.

"I'm going to get you out of here," said Jason.

"I'm glad you got here when you did," she said. "He was planning to—"

A flick of Gray's wrist, and something flashed toward him. Pain shot through his thigh. He collapsed to one knee, grabbing for the tiny blade embedded in his flesh.

Before he could get to it, though, Gray kicked him in the jaw. He fell awkwardly sideways, just managing to hang onto his gun. Fighting the pain, he raised the gun toward Gray's face—but Gray kicked it out of his hand; it clattered across the floor.

Jason yanked Gray's confiscated gun from his belt. No time to aim, he squeezed the trigger in Gray's general direction—and Gray staggered.

But didn't fall. Instead, temple streaming blood, he launched himself toward Jason. Slammed his knee into Jason's chest.

Agony burned through him, as if the bullet had burst into him again. Gray aimed the gun down at him, grinning, the left side of his face covered in blood from the bullet that had grazed his temple. With his other hand, he raked his blond hair back from his forehead.

"You thought you could win, didn't you, Jason? But last time you only escaped on a technicality. I always finish what I start; I'm not going to let you destroy my perfect record.

"What I want to know is, how did you find me? There was nothing I did that could lead you here."

"You shot someone. That was your mistake." Jason rose slowly. Besides the ache across his chest, the burning across his face, his leg throbbed from the blade still embedded in it, blood spreading across his blue jeans.

Gray took a deep breath. "Yes, I miscalculated. But all's well that ends well. The police are still in the dark about where we are, I trust?"

"I told no one."

"Then this is just a small bump in the road. Now that you're here a few hours early, I think we'll take this conversation to a more secure location." He gestured with the gun. "On your knees."

Jason stayed standing, glaring defiantly into Gray's eyes. Gray swung his gun toward Connie, clicked back the safety.

You win this round, thought Jason. He knelt on the floor, gripped with fear at what Gray had in store for him this time.


	11. Crisis

Gray laughed. "So it's not your own skin you're worried about. It's hers."

"You'll let her go?" said Jason. "Our deal?"

"Sorry, you broke our deal when you came here before the appointed time. She's coming with us—additional insurance, shall we say."

"What?" He could hardly get it through his mind what had happened, though he knew it had been likely; he'd had a small window of opportunity to get the upper hand, and it had backfired.

"Of course, you could stop this right now, if you give me what I want. Where is the weapon?"

"I'd never give it to someone like you."

"Oh, no?"

Gray circled him. Then, his eyes locked on Jason's; they were no longer cold; the heat of anger flashed across them. He kicked Jason in the stomach and he doubled over; he barely caught his breath before another kick slammed into his side. He tried to catch his fall, but landed on his left arm, sending a shockwave through his shoulder, which had never quite healed from being stabbed and dislocated. He tried not to show his weakness in front of his enemy, but couldn't help but gasp in pain.

"Some of my handiwork, I see." He stepped on Jason's arm, pinning it to the floor. "A lot of your scars are still healing; those are the places I'll have to focus on."

Gray set his boot down on Jason's hand. Ground his heel into it.

Fire burned through his hand, sending a million shards of pain through every nerve. He was unable to hold back a cry of pain.

"Stop it!" said Connie. She stepped off the chair; staggered as her broken ankle faltered. She dragged herself over beside Jason, her hand on his shoulder, kneeling in front of Gray. "Please, stop."

"What will you do in return? Will you undergo the same things I planned for him?"

She bowed her head. "Anything." A tear slipped down her cheek.

"It's true; it will probably be more painful for him to see your suffering." He withdrew his knife from his belt. A large, serrated blade.

As Jason lay on the floor, agony overwhelming his mind, Gray grabbed Connie's hair. Pulled her head back, and lowered the knife.

Something snapped inside Jason. Awareness flooded back into him. And rage. A yell built deep in his throat, and he let it out as leaped to his feet. He lunged for Gray, hitting him in the jaw; Gray lost his grip on the knife, and it clattered to the ground. Jason laid into him with his fist, punching his jaw, his lip, the bullet wound. Gray fell to the floor; Jason only continued his onslaught.

Then, Gray's elbow hit him in the chest again. The pain that exploded through him almost hurled him back, but he recovered, and grabbed Gray around the neck.

Gray gasped for air, struggled; Jason wouldn't let him go.

"Jason," came a voice, somewhere in the distance. "Jason—" more insistent.

"What?"

"You have to stop—he can't breathe," said Connie.

Awareness flooded back into him and he let up the pressure on Gray's throat. Gray gasped, barely conscious.

"I've got his gun," said Connie. "Here."

"Thanks." Jason slid it into his pocket; he'd give it to the police for evidence when they came. Jason didn't want any chance that this man could get away with what he'd done.

Connie held Jason's gun (though he wasn't sure she knew how to use it) and he bound Gray hand and foot with layers of duct tape. For good measure, Jason stuck a piece over his mouth; having regained consciousness, Gray's eyes stabbed him with murderous thoughts.

Then, Jason sat in the chair, and, taking a deep breath, grasped the blade that was still embedded in his leg.

"What are you doing?" said Connie.

"I—have to get this out."

"What if it hit an artery or something?"

"Then I'd be bleeding a lot more."

He pulled; she turned away. He tossed the blade to the floor with a 'clink'.

"Do you have a cloth of some sort?" he asked, pressing down on the wound.

"Um—here." She unzipped her coat, ripped off a piece from the inside lining, and handed it to him. He bound the strip of cloth tightly around his thigh.

Jason called the police, filling them in, while Connie revealed the valuable piece of information that the door would blow up if someone tried to go through it.

After calling Tasha, who said she'd be there as soon as possible, he knelt beside Connie as she sat in one of the chairs. He inspected her ankle, careful not to hurt it any more than it was.

She leaned over. "It looks swollen, even from here. Makes me feel sick just looking at it."

"Then don't look at it."

She nodded.

"Are you okay otherwise?" he asked.

"I guess so. Except…I haven't had anything to eat or drink since yesterday."

"We'll get you home. I'll get you anything you want to eat. Anything."

"How about ice cream from Italy? Or…cheese from Switzerland?"

He laughed softly. "I'm not Superman, you know."

She smiled. "Really? Here I thought you were, in disguise."

"If I were, I'd've flown here, broken you out a long time ago."

He took her hand in his. She was safe. For now, nothing else mattered.


	12. Safe

Connie sat in a hospital bed, waiting for the results of the x-ray. Because of all the drugs, the throbbing in her ankle had receded to a dull ache.

But images of what had happened had not faded. Things kept flashing across her mind—waking up in the abandoned building, seeing Gray watching from the corner. Jumping off the roof. Crawling through the snow; a man's kindness taking her in. Gray shooting him in cold blood. Jason, bursting through the window to her rescue. And then, Jason hurt before her eyes, each blow like it was happening to her. She was immobile, incapacitated because her broken ankle would stab her if she tried to stand.

But there was one way to stop it. Offer herself instead. Anything would be better than allowing this to happen if she somehow had the power to stop it.

Thankfully, although she still felt the brush of the blade against her throat, it hadn't gotten that far. _Nothing but a broken ankle_ , she thought. And Jason –some injuries but nothing like before. She was worried about him, but he'd insisted it was nothing; the nurse had to practically drag him away from her to get checked over.

Dear God, thank you for rescuing us. Thank you that we're…relatively…okay. Gray is in custody. He'll never come after us again.

But still, the nightmare lingered in the back of her mind…

The door opened. The doctor came in and showed her an x-ray of her ankle. Just the tibia was broken; a tiny piece had also come off of it, and would have to be pinned back on. He was just asking her what time to schedule surgery, and Connie was still trying to grasp the agonizing length of recovery, when the door opened again. Jason walked inside; there were bruises on his face, and he was limping.

"How is she, doctor?" he asked.

"Well, considering the fall she took, it could've been a lot worse. The ankle took most of the impact; that's where we get things like this." He tapped the x-ray sheet. There was a white piece of bone where it wasn't supposed to be. It made her feel strange, looking inside her body like it was a separate object. "But otherwise," said the doctor, "it's a pretty clean break." He explained to Jason what he'd just been explaining to Connie—a week with a splint, and then surgery and then a temporary cast and then a more permanent cast. It made her feel exhausted just hearing about it; she wished she could rewind what had happened somehow and everything could snap back to normal.

The doctor left, leaving Jason holding the x-ray. "It could've been worse," he said, almost as if to himself.

"It was probably worse than it would've been…" she said, without thinking.

"What do you mean?"

"Gray—he—stepped on my ankle. That was the scream you heard."

Jason paled. He took a breath. "He deserves much worse than he got."

"Well, he's not getting out any time soon."

"I wish I could be sure of that."

Before she could ask what he meant, there was a knock at the door. Tasha peeked inside. "Okay if I come in?"

"Yeah," said Connie and Jason in unison.

Tasha stepped inside. "How are you two doing?"

"I've just got a broken ankle," said Connie. "Jason—"

"I'm fine, as you can see."

"I saw you when we got there. We both know you're not fine."

"Connie's safe. Gray's in custody. That's all that matters."

Tasha nodded. "But you can't pretend that a broken rib is nothing."

"A broken rib!" Connie gasped.

"Well, compared to last time...it _is_ nothing."

Tasha shook her head. "You shouldn't have rushed in there, Jason."

"What else could I do? I wasn't going to leave her there, with him."

"Well, after all that happened before, I see why you did what you did. And after all these years, I should know I can't expect you to play by the rules." A small smile tugged at her lips.

"It ended up well, though. Gray's in custody. We'll need to debrief you, of course."

"Of course," he said.

"That's nothing to the grilling we're going to put Gray through. But I doubt he'll be very forthcoming."

"I don't see him spilling his secrets without a colossal amount of pressure."

"Will is still out there. Gray was just a mercenary—who knows how many resources Will has. We don't even know how much Gray knows—but if he can even give us a clue…."

"So," said Connie, "this isn't really the end, is it?"

"I'm afraid not," said Tasha.

"I have a feeling," said Jason, "that this was just a…skirmish, before the real war begins."

Jason and Tasha went outside of the room; she could still see them, talking beyond the door. Then, they embraced, a hug which lingered longer than one between just friends would. There was a strange sinking feeling in her heart _. I'm going to lose him, aren't I_ , she thought. _But he was never mine in the first place...and never will be._

Tears gathered in her eyes. Tears that she struggled to wipe away when the door burst open fully and people poured in.

Mom, Whit, Wooton, Penny! They all crowded around her, talking at once.

Mom sat down beside her. "I'm so sorry, honey. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just my ankle."

"I'm so glad you're safe," said Whit, looking down at her with a smile. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I bought you a stuffed snowman," said Wooton. He handed her a plush snowman with a happy grin and a smudge on his face.

"He's cute!" said Connie.

"What are you going to name him?" said Penny.

"Um…I don't know, maybe Snow?"

"Great name!" said Wooton.

"Here," said Penny. She handed her a card. "Get Well Soon," it said, with two people on the front.

"It's you!" said Connie. "And me!"

"I drew you how you're going to look when you get well," she said, "since it'd be kind of depressing just looking at someone on crutches all the time."

"Thanks, Penny!"

Jason came back in. "Is there room for one more in here?" he said.

"The more the merrier!" said Wooton. "But we better not get too crazy unless we want to get thrown out of the hospital."

"Are you all right, Jason?" said Whit.

"I'm fine, Dad. It's Connie who got seriously injured this time."

"Well, it was kind of my fault," she said. "I jumped from the roof—and I didn't land very well. I don't even remember how I landed—I just know it hurt when I got there."

"How does your ankle feel now?" said Mom.

"Mostly numb. The drugs help a lot." She explained what the doctor had told her, and showed them the x-ray. "Then I'll get a cast. And I'll probably have to hobble around on crutches for eight weeks."

"I have an idea that might help," said Wooton. "We could have a cast party."

"A cast party?"

"Yeah, where we throw a party and everyone writes things on your cast."

"I guess that could be fun."

"And we could have a play theme," said Penny.

"A play theme?" said Wooton.

"You know, because it's a cast party! We could have it at the Harlequin Theatre-"

"Don't go too overboard," said Connie. "I mean, I don't really want to draw more attention to it than I have to. Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

"We'll get you home as soon as we can," said Whit.

"I'll be with you, every step of the way," said Jason softly, and touched her shoulder. She smiled up at him; his eyes drew her in; longing pierced her heart.

_I do love him_ , she thought _. I know that now. But I don't think it's a love we can ever share._

She looked away to keep her eyes from welling with tears, and plastered a smile on her face for the benefit of her mother and her friends, but most of all, for him.


End file.
